Central Park Musings
by gingerlizard91
Summary: [MacStella] Pretty much what the title says. Stella remembers one particular tragic experience with Mac and reflects on it.


The very minute Stella Bonasera had begun to read the great works of poetry by Robert Frost and Edgar Allen Poe when she was little, she promised herself that's how her life would be. Just like a poem; a rhythmic quality to it, with healthy doses of beauty, mystery, love and passion. She was naïve then and didn't know the way life worked. But it didn't hurt to dream, right? Stella was a dreamer by nature.

Stella sat bundled in an uncharacteristically puffy winter coat on a cold metal bench somewhere deep in Central Park in the early evening. The streetlights had just come on a few minutes ago and the crisp winter wind blew at her face torturously. She sank deeper into her coat and pulled her gloved hands inside the sleeves. What had driven her to come out here now, of all times? Oh, right, the vision she had dreamt up of Mac for the past several weeks. The pained, sleepless workaholic who didn't seem to want anyone's company as he sat in his darkened New York apartment flipping through cooking channels and AMC, trying to find a movie he could envelope himself in. Yes, right, _that _vision.

The cold was surrounding her – not just the snowfall from previous blizzards, but the freezing feeling she got whenever Mac was around. In a way, Stella admitted to herself, she was like him. They were both single, brainy scientists who would go home after shift and pine for the families of victims of the harsh cases they worked. Fortunately, Stella knew how to tune herself out of depression when needed: a nice hot, steaming Irish coffee from Sullivan's. Well, maybe that wasn't the entire remedy.

Mac used to join her in her travels to every single damn Irish bar in this city. It was as simple as, "Mac, Irish coffee?", and he'd be grabbing his coat and car keys and following her gleaming smile out the door. They used to be so close; Stella could call him and tell him of her most recent date and he'd be happy for her when she said she thought something sparked between them. Mac could find her sitting peacefully on a bench in the park, much as she was doing now, and lean into her shoulder and say how he knew Claire's love for him was diminishing. He had even told her once, right before sharing a subtle slow dance with her, that he suspected another man in Claire's life. The pain in his eyes was unbearable, but couldn't compare to the dullness she saw on September 11th, 2001.

Stella had gotten out of bed that sunny day and prepared for work as usual, which meant showering, dressing up and putting a curling iron to her hair to keep it from going pin straight, her worst nightmare. She'd gone into work cheerful, greeted Mac with a fresh "hello", and he handed her their case: a B and E on Cortlandt Street. They had driven there, investigated for no more than half an hour. While dusting for prints on the roof and looking for evidence in general, Mac and Stella had both heard the deafening boom. Heads shooting skyward, their eyes witnessed the greatest American tragedy since Pearl Harbor. Every officer with them rushed up to see what was going on, and one finally said that the first tower was going collapse and they all had to get the hell out of there. They did, but Mac hadn't gone easy.

"God damn it, Stella, my wife is up there!"

"You'd be risking your own life; even if you make it to her you both won't get out alive! Now _get in the damn car_!"

He had to comply and they drove at break-neck speed away from the collapsing towers. It broke Stella's heart to see Mac turn around in his seat and watch the drama unfold, but they had to get away – fast.

That day wasn't the end of it all, of course. After taking a few sick days to make preparations for his wife's funeral, Mac returned to work and carried on as if nothing had happened. Stella was worried and confronted him with that worry in the layout room, and he had responded in the worst way possible.

"Leave me the fuck alone."

She was startled to hear that come out of his mouth, as Mac Taylor did not curse often. When she tried to place a hand on his shoulder, he swiped at her, twisting her wrist a little and causing intense pain to shoot through her arm. She looked at him in utter shock and then torn into him like a bulldozer.

"Damn it, Mac, would you just relax and let me comfort you?"

He spun around and looked straight at her, his eyes glazing over; it was a sure sign he was angry. He spoke in a low tone and growled, "We were _one block away_ and _you_ wouldn't let me help my wife."

"What's better: living with Claire or dying with Claire?"

"How can you ask me that! I would have rather _died_ than go on with my life without her!"

"It happens to every single freakin' one of us! The only difference is that you're too ignorant to move on!"

"Would you _please_ stop becoming part of my personal life?"

"That's too damn bad, because I'm your friend and I'm worried about you! Think about this, Mac: hundreds of kids came home from school last week to find that one or both of their parents were dead. Think of the New Yorkers who commute to Jersey every day and wish they could've saved their loved ones but were too far away. Just stop and think. That's how life is. Get on with _your_ life, or burn out. It's your choice."

The most shocking thing of all happened right then and there. Newbie lab techs looked on as Mac proceeded to physically take his anger out on Stella. With a resounding _whack_, Mac had slapped Stella across the face, and she fell to the ground with a bleeding lip. The DNA lab tech at that time, a nervous red-haired college student named Brent, had shown his courage by running in and restraining Mac before he could hurt Stella again. More people crowded around the ruckus, and Stella had pushed her way past everyone to clean herself up in the lavatory.

The women's bathroom had been empty, so Stella locked the door and bent over a sink and began to sob. The blood from her lip mixed with her tears and washed down the drain and they didn't seem to cease. The love she had for Mac had been shattered in one blind moment and everything she thought about him had instantly dissolved, like meeting someone for the first time and not knowing about their true personality.

She feared how long it would take for her to get over this.

Not too long, as Stella had found out the next day. Shift had ended, and she hadn't seen Mac for hours. Stella sat on the bench before her locker, spying the pictures of her and Mac from years past when a soft knock came at the door.

"Stella?"

She looked away to the bright window and muttered, "What do you want, Mac?"

He ambled over to her and took a seat next to her. She shifted away a bit.

"I realize I hurt you yesterday, and I just wanted to apologize. My actions were rash and irresponsible."

Stella remained silent.

Mac reached into his pocket and enclosed something in his fist. "I bought this for you as…as a token of friendship."

She didn't flinch.

Knowing she was a tough egg to crack, Mac pushed the gift into Stella's hands and got to his feet, heading for the door.

One of Stella's well-known weaknesses was curiosity, and it finally got the better of her. She stared down at the object she held. A jewelry box? Now she just had to know what was inside, and she opened it.

A beautiful golden butterfly pendant sat serenely in the case.

"I love butterflies," she whispered.

Mac hadn't left yet. "I know…that's why I got it for you."

Stella fingered the pendant lovingly. "I don't know whether to hug you or drop-kick your ass to the moon."

"I'll take the first one, but I can understand the second one."

The corners of Stella's lips turned upward slightly. She stood slowly and said, "C'mere."

The hug they had shared after that was hard to break from, as Stella was listening for something from him.

"Am I forgiven?"

She kissed his cheek and whispered, "Yes."

That had been five years ago, and the memory of Mac's hatred still haunted her like a ghost. Her thoughts focused back on Central Park in the nighttime. The wind became increasingly colder, the number of people walking by her started to diminish, and it felt as of she'd been here thinking about Mac for hours. Checking her watch, Stella saw it was almost eight o' clock. She would leave soon…just in a few more minutes.

His timing was near perfect.

"Hey, Stel," came Mac's gruff voice.

Stella looked up. "Hey, tough guy."

He took up the seat next to her, and without warning his gloved hand closed over hers.

Stella's head whipped around, and he said, "I've been thinking about you."

"I was about to say the same thing."

A moment passed. The wind whistled in their ears and the taxis on the street not too far away honked loudly. Without those noises, this would be the perfect moment.

" 'Anger makes you smaller, while forgiveness forces you to grow beyond what you were,' " he quoted suddenly.

Stella squeezed his hand.

"So true."

END


End file.
